Meantime, in the guise of a young priestess, Master Yang had come into the temple, tuned his harp and had begun to play. Just as the old nurse had said good-bye and was about to step into the chair, she suddenly heard the sound of music from before the portrait in the main hall. Lovely music it was, clear and sweet, such as belongs beyond the clouds. Chon, ordering the chair to wait for a moment, inclined her head and listened.
She turned to the priestess Too-ryon and said: “While I have waited on the lady Cheung I have heard sweet music, but never in my life have I heard anything like this. It is wonderful. Who is playing?”
The priestess replied: “Recently a young acolyte from Cho has come to visit me, desiring greatly to see the capital. It is she who plays. Certainly her powers of execution are wonderful, but I am not a musician myself, and cannot well distinguish one part from the other. Still I am sure after what you say that she must be very gifted indeed.”
Chon said: “If the lady Cheung knows of this she will certainly invite her. Ask her to stay for a little, please.”
The priestess replied: “Very well, I'll do so.” So she sent her on her way and then she told Master Yang what old Chon had said. Yang was delighted, and awaited impatiently his summons to the house of Cheung.
On her return the old nurse said to the lady Cheung: “In the Taoist Temple there is a young priestess who plays the harp as I have never heard it played in my life; it is the most wonderful playing in the world.”
The lady Cheung replied: “I wish I could hear her.” The following day she sent a closed chair and a servant to the temple bearing a message to the teacher Too-ryon, saying: “Even though the young priestess should not wish to come, please use your kind offices to have her visit me.”
The priestess then said to Yang before the servant: “This high and noble lady invites you; you must not refuse to go.”
“It is not fitting,” said Yang, “that one born of the low classes in a distant part of the country should go into the presence of nobility, and yet how can I refuse to do what your ladyship commands?”
So he donned the robe and hat of a priestess, took his harp and went forth. Truly he was as startling in appearance and as sweet as the ancient favourites of China. The servant of the Cheungs was beside herself with joy.
Master Yang, in the closed chair, safely reached Cheung's. The servant then led the way into the inner quarters. The lady Cheung, with dignified but kindly countenance, was seated in the main hall.
[CUTLINE: In Guise of a Princess]
The musician bowed twice before the step-way, and then the lady ordered her to be seated, saying: “My servant went yesterday to the temple and was so fortunate as to hear the music of the gods. She returned and expressed a wish that I might hear it so. Now indeed I realise what the saying means that the beautiful presence of the genii drives all worldly thoughts from the soul.”
The young priestess arose from her seat. “Your humble servant,” said she, “is from the land of Cho, and is making a hasty journey like a passing cloud. Because of my slight attainments in music your ladyship has called me to play before you. How could I ever have dreamed of such an honour?”
The lady Cheung told the servant to place the harp in order. She touched. it lightly herself, saying: “This is a beautiful instrument indeed.”
The young priestess answered: “It is made of o-dong wood that has dried for a hundred years on the Yong-moon mountain. Its fibre is close knit and hard like metal or marble. It was a gift to me that I never could have purchased with money.”
As they talked together the shades of the afternoon began to fall upon the white stone entry, but still there was no sign of the daughter.
The musician, in a state of great inward impatience and doubt, said to the lady: “Though your servant knows many ancient tunes and prefers them to the modern, I play them only, but do not know their names or history. I have heard the priestess in the temple say that your excellent daughter's knowledge of music is equal to that of the famous Sa-kwan. I should like to have her hear and comment concerning my poor efforts.”
The lady then sent a servant to call the daughter. In a little the embroidered door slid open and a breath of sweet fragrance issued forth. The maiden came sweetly out and sat down beside her mother. The musician arose, made two bows and slightly lifted his eyes to see, and lo, it was as when the first rays of the morning bursts upon one, or as when the fresh bloom of the lotus shows above the water. His mind was all in a daze, his spirit intoxicated so that he dared not look. He was sitting at a distance where he had difficulty in seeing, so he said to the lady: “I should like to hear more clearly what the young mistress says. The hall is so large and her voice so soft that I cannot catch the words.”
The lady then told one of the servants to bring the priestess's cushion up closer. The servant did so and arranged the seat just in front of the lady Cheung and to the right of the young mistress, and adjusted it so that they could not look straight at each other. Yang was disturbed by this, but did not dare to suggest a second change. The servant then placed the incense table in front and brought incense. Then Yang, the pretended priestess, touched the strings of his harp and began with the tune, “The Feathery Robes of the Fairy.”
The young lady said: “Oh, how beautiful! This is proof indeed of the happy world of Tang Myong days. The maiden's playing is beyond human conception, but, alas, it is said of this tune that the O-yang barbarian with the sound of the drum came thundering in, shaking the earth and drowning out the notes of the 'Feathery Robes.' This is a tune associated with wild war, and though wonderful in its power it has fearsome associations connected with it; try another, please.”
Yang played again. Then the young mistress said: “This is a beautiful tune too, but it suggests a wild, reckless life that rushes to extremes. King Hoo-joo of China enjoyed this tune to the undoing of his kingdom, and its name to-day is famous, 'The Garden of Green Gems and Trees.' The saying runs: 'Even though you were to meet Hoo-joo in Hades it would be out of place to ask him about Green Gems and Trees.' This is a tune that caused the loss of a kingdom, and is one not to be honoured. Won't you play another?”
Yang played another tune. Then the young lady remarked: “This tune is sad, glad, sweet and tender. It is the tune of Cha Moon-heui, who was caught in a war and carried off by the barbarian. Cho-cho gave a fabulous ransom for her and had her brought home. When she bade good-bye to her half-barbarian sons Cha Moon-heui wrote this tune. It is said, 'The barbarians on hearing it dropped their tears upon the grass, while the minister from Han was melted by the strains of it.' It is a very beautiful tune, and yet she is a woman who forsook her virtue. Why should we talk of it? Try another, please.”
Then Yang played again. The young mistress said: “This is 'The Distant Barbarian,' written by Wang So-gun [20]
. Wang So-gun thought of her former king and longed for her native land. She put into her song her lost country, and a wail of sorrow over the portrait that was her undoing. She herself had said: 'Who will write a tune that will move the hearts of the people for a thousand years as they think of me?' Still it is born of life with the barbarian and is a half-foreign tune, and not just what we should call correct. Have you another?”
Yang then tried another. Then the young lady's expression changed, and she said: “It is long since I heard this tune. You are surely not an inhabitant of the earth. This calls up the history of a great and wonderful man who had fallen on evil days and had given up all thought of worldly things. His faithful heart was bewildered over the mystery of life, and he wrote this tune called 'The Hill of the Wide Tomb.' As he was beheaded in the East market he looked at the setting sun and sang it, adding the words 'Alas, alas, will anyone ever desire to learn it? I have kept it to myself; now I grieve that there is no chance to pass it on.' You must indeed have met the spirit of the Buddha Sok-ya to have learnt it.”